


Hero Worship

by deux_lunes



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 09:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deux_lunes/pseuds/deux_lunes
Summary: What kind of teenage boy has a poster of Elvis in his bedroom? Oh. That kind of boy.Originally posted on Livejournal





	Hero Worship

The notepad in front of me was staying blank. I had been staring at it for the better part of an hour and I had yet to pick up the pen for purposes other than dropping it back on the desk. I just fidgeted in my chair, listening listlessly to the radio. I couldn’t express this feeling of ennui—restless, slightly too hot, not interested in anything.

_If Paul was here, I’d think up something to do,_ I thought bitterly. But no, the little bastard had to be at home with his visiting grandparents. If he had been a considerate friend, he would have told them not to visit until I had something on my social calendar. _I’ll have to remember to give him hell tomorrow._

“Hey, hey, hey, all you kids out in radio land!” The disc jockey’s smooth voice disrupted me from my brooding. I looked at the radio next to me, praying for something good to come on. By some strange force of God, it did.

“We’ve got a new song for you all tonight, straight from the king of rock ‘n’ roll himself, Mr. Elvis Presley! This is ‘Stuck on You’, and remember, you heard it first on Radio Luxembourg.”

My hand shot out for the volume dial, turning the little radio as loud as I could without disturbing Mimi. A plunking piano filled the room, soon accompanied by the King’s sultry voice. A wide grin grew across my face as his famous “uh-huh-huh” was uttered. The fucking _King_. I’d be dread to admit it to any of my mates, but if given the chance, I would give Elvis anything he asked. And I mean anything. The poster of Elvis on my wall had provided endless hours of pleasure, not to mention lying on my floor like a girl, shivering over every rich chord and his creamy voice. 

“I’m gonna stick like glue-- stick because I’m. Stuck on you!”

“Mm, fuck, Elvis…” I surreptitiously let my hand wander down to the front of my trousers; no one was around to judge me. Rubbing myself gently, my other hand reached out to turn the radio up a little more. The King’s voice reverberated around my tiny room, allowing myself to dream of him here, with me, singing this song just for me. I unzipped my trousers, massaging my slowly hardening cock softly.

Too soon, the song had finished and I was left groaning in disappointment as the DJ offered his thoughts on the song. By now, I was horny enough to actually wank, not just rub myself. Flipping off the radio, I made my way to the record player, deciding to play the King’s second LP. I put the needle on, turned the volume up and let my trousers drop to the middle of the floor before jumping onto my bed. I teased myself through my briefs, letting the rock ‘n’ roll flow through my ears. Just as I was reaching into my pants however, a loud _BAM_ on my door wrenched it away.

“John Winston Lennon! Do you have any idea what time it is?! Turn that blasted radio down!”

I scowled viciously. “The radio isn’t on, aunt Mimi!” I yelled. “Guess I don’t have to turn the record player then?”

“You turn that thing down or I will personally take every single one of those records until you learn the importance of respect for others!”

Still scowling, I rose and lowered the volume until I could barely hear it myself. “Better, matron?”

I could hear her sniff outside my door. “Better, John. Get to bed.” She shuffled into her room and as soon as I heard her door close, I raised the volume just a little more before returning to my bed. God, what I’d give to be out of here. Out of Liverpool, out of Britain… In America. New York, Hollywood, Chicago… Memphis. The heat of the southern U.S. pouring down on me, meeting my hero face to face. Maybe he’d like me. Maybe he’d more than like me. I grinned and reached into my briefs.

_“Hey there, kiddo,” Elvis “The King” Presley drawls, looking me up and down. I shiver—I am so nervous, but so excited. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, only hesitating a moment to hand me one. “How old are you, son?”_

_“Almost 20.” I’m cool, I’m confident. I light my fag and let out a long spiral of smoke into the air. He grins, then stands and strokes my cheek. I have to look up at him to meet his eyes._

_“What’s your name?”_

_“John.”_

_“Well. John. Would you like to join me in my private room?”_

_“Yes, very much.”_

I gripped myself in full now, stroking slowly and deliberately. I already had a half-mast erection and I hadn’t even made it to Elvis’s bed yet.

_He led me into his private chambers, sitting me on a large bed. He stays standing, looking down on me and stroking my legs ever so gently. “Have you been with a man before, John?”_

_“I have.”_ Elvis doesn’t have to know that I’m lying. In real life, I may have been virgin to men, but in my fantasy life, there was no bigger whore.

_“Have you been with a real man?” His gentle, talented fingers made their way to the front of my tented pants, teasing me lightly._

_“I guess not, sir.” I grin cheekily at him while he undoes my pants, pulling my cock out expertly._

_“You can just call me King, John. Now lay your pretty little head on that bed and let me get to business.”_

“Oh, ohh God.” I began to stroke myself faster, pretending it Elvis-fucking-Presley’s mouth on my dick, not just my own hand. “Fuck…”

_Elvis murmurs appreciatively from around my prick, and I’m so turned on watching him suck me, I moan loudly and run my fingers through his hair._ I bit my lip hard to keep from moaning aloud.

“I’m gonna tell Aunt Mary about Uncle John! He claims he has the music, but he has a lot of fun, oh baby!”

My eyes shot open at the abrupt intro to “Long Tall Sally”, but they closed again quickly with a smile on my face. Paul and I had been attempting to learn this one, and he sounded so good on it. Even better than Elvis, if I was pressed to admit it.

_The dark head moves faster on my cock, licking and sucking me needfully. He takes me so far into his mouth, I feel the head of my prick hitting the back of his throat. I think about his own prick, hard and trapped inside his tight trousers. I need to touch him. “Oh God, Paul…”_

Paul?! I kept my eyes closed, trying to will Elvis back into the picture. Or at the very least, stop touching myself while thinking of my best friend… my naked best friend… smiling at me so…

_Sexy. He climbs on top of me; somehow we’re both naked now, our erections jutting out, and he rubs them together just so. I moan and pull myself closer to him. _

_“You’re so hot, Johnny,” he whispers as he reaches down to fondle my dripping cock. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long.”_

_“Paul, I need you—”_

_“I know you’ve never been with a man before,” he continues, stroking me slowly, surely. “I’d be gentle with you. Unless, of course, you didn’t want it to be gentle.”_

I jerked myself harder and faster. Paul’s beautiful face lingered behind my eyelids, possessing me with desire.

_His wet, pouty lips trace over my skin, making me shiver and pull myself closer into his arms. “Do you wanna fuck me, Paul?” I ask, rubbing myself against his erection. _

_“I’m dying to fuck you, John,” he growls, tugging my dick furiously, pre-come splattering between us. “But right now, I want you to come. I want you to come right now, all over my hand.”_

_“Ohh, fuu-ck, Paul…” I pant harder, burying my face in his neck but he won’t allow that. He lifts my face to look at him and roughly smashes his lips against mine. His hand gives me one last hard pull and I come violently, writhing in his arms and biting his lip to keep from moaning._

“Fuck,” I whispered, finally opening my eyes and breaking free from my reverie. My lip was bleeding and my hand and stomach were covered in come, but that mess was nothing compared to the whirlwind of thoughts swarming through my mind. I really just wanked off to my best friend. I wanted him to flip me on all fours and fuck me as hard as he could. I wanted him to _kiss_ me.

Shakily, I rose to a sitting position and grabbed the tissue next to my bed, cleaning myself off as best as I could. This was just… an accident. I was thinking about Paul because “Long Tall Sally” came on. Nothing more. I stood, adjusting my briefs and turned off the record player. I had had enough Elvis for one night. No sooner had I turned the record off though, when I heard a soft _chink!_ at my window. Crossing the room, I looked down and there was none other than Paul McCartney himself with a handful of pebbles.

I opened the window, and fearing my voice would crack from anticipation, I mimicked a high female voice: “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?!”

“Bloody hell, John, let me in!” Paul stage-whispered peevishly. “I’ve been out here for at least ten minutes trying to get your attention!”

“Keep your trousers on, Romeo, I’m coming.” I tried to desperately calm myself as I sneaked down the stairs, afraid that somehow, Paul would know everything I had just been fantasizing. He kept quiet until we were back in my room… Then he burst out laughing.

“Oh shit, John, were you wanking?”

My face quickly colored, burning embarrassment coursing through my body. “So what if I was?”

Paul laughed again, then sat on the bed, obviously not caring that I had been pleasuring myself there not even five minutes earlier. “I don’t care, John. Do you really think I do? I just can’t believe you wanked off when you could have had me in here.”

My heart stopped. I stared at him, somewhat horrified, somewhat fascinated, but he only smiled at me. “What? I wrote a new song last night. It’s bloody fantastic, if I do say so myself. I want to go over it with you.”

I exhaled, relief and vague disappointment washing over me in a wave. “Lemme see it, Macca.” I collapsed into my chair as Paul pulled papers out of his satchel.

“Anything good on the radio tonight?” he asked casually, handing me his new song.

“Not too much. New Elvis single. It’s pretty good though.”

“Really?” My younger friend grinned ear-to-ear, obviously pleased. “I’m dying to hear it.”

I looked at him closely, his warm smile and big brown eyes, his carefully plotted words and music in my hands. He was beautiful. “It’s good… But I think I might be getting over Elvis a bit.”

“Really? Why?”

“Dunno.” I grinned at him. “I just think that we’re going to be even better, Macca.”

THE END


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